sad and beautiful world

Cookout here tonight for my visiting family in honor of Jeff. (Come on over and slainte with us. Really. There is lots of prosecco, which has been my sentimental favorite all-occasion quaff since John, Anna, & I saw the table of construction guys casually sharing several bottles with their work-a-day lunchtime pizza in Venice.)

The boys can run around with their Nerf swords and make as much noise as they want, and go explore the rr tracks.

Planning to smoke some scallops that Jeff’s college roommate Bill brought fresh from Martha’s Vineyard, and grill a slab of swordfish for my landlocked brother and sister.

Making a pitcher of icy mojitos, because the mint is everywhere,

a version of high summer caprese : chopped tomato/olives/basil/fresh mozzarella on grilled bread,

Carla’s brilliant idea of panna cotta made with almond milk, served in little canning jars (I KNOW!), topped with fresh raspberries, and kids can pick us some blueberries too, from the burgeoning bushes Jeff planted many years ago.

Maybe some tiny chocolate frosted chocolate zucchini cupcakes from the zucchini Ramona Snell MADE me take, while advising me to keep my car locked so I don’t find more zucchini there tomorrow. Jeff loved that joke.

MIA: Jeff, of course. He would revel in this. Perhaps I shall light a citronella candle in his honor. Oh shit, shouldn’t have tried to be funny. Crying a little now. However, he would find that amusing. The candle AND the crying.

Anna: in NYC visiting her college pals. It is fitting that she is on an exciting adventure this weekend, and then capping it off with a visit with Jeff’s bestie Uncle Matt, who may drag her to MOMA and then maybe a fantastic hole in the wall restaurant she would never find on her own before parting ways at Port Authority. She was so sweet, asking so gently if we had plans for today before telling me of this invitation.

Wilbur: whose last days were filled with manymany dog bones, chunks of cold watermelon (his favorite!), strokes of his raggedy fur and bony back, final walks in all his favorite places, and even one last stolen pork rib bone from the railroad tracks, poetic justice if there ever was any.